


Worlds Apart

by Gloomier



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, F/F, FemBagginshield, Female Bilbo Baggins, Female Bilbo Baggins/Female Thorin Oakenshield, Female Thorin Oakenshield, First Meetings, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, but near towards the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: Bilbo has always been adventurous, starting from the moment she was able to crawl. But as time goes on, it becomes apparent that nothing will keep Bilbo from charging out into the world beyond the Shire. The only thing a parent can do is make sure their daughter is equipped to go on such an adventure.Or: Lady Bilbo travels across the world and falls arse over tea kettle for lady Thorin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is my first fem bagginshield fic (and most definitely not the last). While I shouldn't be posting more WIPs, this fic shouldn't be too terribly long and I am determined to finish it by the end of fembagginshield week, or shortly after. This fic is a year and change in the making, including a plotted sequel to be posted at a later date. 
> 
> This started out trying to follow a prompt I saw on the fembagginshield blog on tumblr last year, but things did not go as planned and I ended up with two different fics (a prequel and a sequel).
> 
>  
> 
> [ My Tumblr](https://tea-blitz.tumblr.com/)

It begins with an adventure.

Bilbo’s mother fills her head with all sorts of exciting and romantic tales of adventure and love. It’s the promise of more stories that keeps little Bilbo from running off into the forest in search of her own.

When she’s a little bit older, and sharing those same stories with all of her friends, Bilbo’s mother catches her kissing Merigold Burrows after their successful adventure. From that moment on Belladonna tries to teach Bilbo how to garden. There’s not a doubt in Bella’s mind that her little Bilbo, so full of happiness and love, will one day need her very own garden.

As Bilbo grows up, her thirst for adventure grows too, there is very little to keep her rooted to home. She takes many walking holidays, pushing out further towards the bounds of the Shire with each one.  Bungo can never sit still while his daughter is out romping around, having her fun. There is no immediate danger of course, but a parent can do little than worry about their child when they go off on their own. Belladonna had been the same while the both of them were growing up, and for the longest time Bungo thought he’d never catch her ever-wandering attention.

Bungo hopes that one day his little sunflower will settle down, maybe even have some grandchildren he can spoil, but he knows deep down that it won’t be as easy as that. Bilbo’s coming of age is still a few years off yet, and though it isn’t Shire tradition, he begins preparations on a special birthday gift for Bilbo.

Bilbo is thirty when she feels her first heartbreak; Belladonna finds Bilbo in the garden, crying over her lost love.

The parting was a gentle one, as Bilbo explains it.

“Mum, Delilah said she wants to be with someone else.”

But the gentleness of the confession doesn’t make the sting of rejection hurt any less.

“Love isn’t easy, my summer breeze, but one day you will find the one meant for you. I promise,” Belladonna whispers back into Bilbo’s sea of tawny curls.

Though Bilbo doesn’t realize it yet, there’s a whole world out there waiting for her to explore, and one day she will know a longing that aches so much more than heartbreak.

With the help of his wife, Bungo manages to get in contact with that strange wizard friend of hers. He has cut no corners planning Bilbo’s coming of age party, and tonight’s fireworks display, thanks to Gandalf, will be a spectacular send off for Bilbo’s first grand adventure. The food and drink are nearly endless, and the entire Shire, it seems, is in attendance. It was no small task making sure they had a number gifts that equaled the piles of letters promising to attend the party.

Bungo watches Bilbo twirl around on the dance floor in her elegant, cornflower blue dress. She radiates happiness, and yes, it seems that it’s indeed possible to be even more proud to have been gifted such a splendid daughter. He watched his little flower grow and bloom, and all he can think now is ‘ _she’s not my little girl anymore,’_ and that thought chokes him up a bit. He tries to hide the welling of tears in his eyes, but Bella catches him in the act of brushing away the errant drops escaping out from the corners of his eyes. Belladonna might think him a sappy old hobbit, but he sees it in his wife’s eyes too; the light of the party lanterns shimmers in her glassy eyes.

The display of colorful fireworks ends with roaring applause and Bungo with an armful of Bilbo, but nothing will ever compare to the absolute wonder alight in his daughter’s eyes when he finally hands over his gifts to her: a few sets of traveling clothes, an oil skin, and a durable pack filled with even more goodies.

Bilbo’s departure the next morning leaves all three of them in tears, albeit happy ones.

*

Bilbo doesn’t think about home until both she and Gandalf are miles away from Bree. The town has been the furthest she’s been out of the Shire, but the realization that now she’s even further away from home has butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. Taking care of her pony when they stop for the night, as well as all the interesting (and almost unbelievable) stories Gandalf has to tell, help to quell the fluttering—that is, until they reach Rivendell, when a different kind of fluttering takes its place.

They stay for a couple weeks, but it only takes a day for her to become friends with practically every elf in the valley. She feels utterly spoiled by the massive library crammed with all sorts of texts, Lord Elrond’s large collection of maps, all of the new foods she gets to try, and the enchanting scenery. Bilbo almost doesn’t wish to leave when Gandalf says that they must be on their way, but she promises all her new elf friends that she’ll come back and visit.

The wonders don’t cease after they leave Rivendell.

Bilbo feels so small beneath the shadow of the Misty Mountains, but she bravely faces their incredible height. The jutting crags make the mountains seem unfriendly and harsh, so it takes most of their journey through the pass before Bilbo discovers their beauty.

Eventually the mountainous terrain gives way to a gentle field, green as the rolling hills of the Shire. They stay with a giant of a man named Beorn that Gandalf casually mentions is a skin changer. The Wizard is an odd one, so Bilbo isn’t really sure if it’s true or not, but the man does look rather wild. Bilbo thinks she’s seen everything until their host’s animal tenants serve them food and drink for the duration of their stay. It’s the most peculiar thing she’s ever witnessed, but they are very polite and friendly.

The Greenwood looks a whole different kind of intimidating from the outside looking in. They are met on the outskirts by a lone elf named Tauriel who accompanies them through the Forest. Bilbo’s entire opinion of the forest changes as she guides her pony forward onto the elven path; it’s in a perpetual state of twilight and is far more welcoming than it had looked initially. Bilbo politely asks about Tauriel’s people, excited by the prospect of meeting even more elves. Unfortunately, Gandalf chimes in about not having time to stop and deal with the theatrics of King Thranduil; Tauriel tilts her head back and laughs. Whatever joke is shared between Tauriel and Gandalf is lost on Bilbo, but she makes a promise to herself to meet the elf king named Thranduil.

Their jaunt through the forest is unexpectedly fast, though Tauriel explains it’s all thanks to the magic imbued within the path they travel. The three of them camp out on the edge of the forest for the night, then say their goodbyes in the chilly early morning, parting ways to finish the last leg of their journey before winter sets in.

They stop briefly in the city called Lake Town to charter passage across the Long Lake. Many of the town’s buildings look quite dingy, and the smell of fish is ever-present in the air. It easily becomes Bilbo’s least favorite stop on their trip; she doesn’t at all appreciate the rude stares from passers-by, but soon enough they are on their way.

Bilbo is more subdued as their boat glides across the water; she is a brave hobbit, but water will make any steel-spined hobbit uneasy. So she passes the time needling her Wizard companion for more information, but the old man is nothing but irritating. Gandalf refuses to answer any of her questions about Erebor, and craftily avoids her subtle and indirect queries with complete nonsense. Bilbo most certainly catches the wretch smirking at her, the bastard! She would have liked to fight more on the issue, but the gentle rocking of the boat makes her feel a bit dizzy. She falls silent and Gandalf chooses that moment to speak of dwarves. It’s a distraction Bilbo is most thankful for.

“Bilbo my friend, dwarves are very wonderful,” he says, gently patting her shoulder. “They are a strong and honorable people who craft some of the most beautiful things you’ll ever see! They can be stubborn, but once you’ve gotten to know them they are excellent friends. You will enjoy your time in Erebor, I promise you.”

Outsiders hardly ever travel through the Shire, and those that do don’t stick around long enough for a curious hobbit lass to ask her questions. The bigger races tend to keep toward the mannish towns and villages for trade and think little of hobbits; it’s a rather pointed discussion topic for Bilbo, hobbits are worth many visits! The things she knows about dwarves only amounts to what she has read in all the books she’s managed to get her hands on, which is admittedly very little, and the disappointing words of a ridiculous Wizard.

“That’s hardly anything at all, you dratted wizard!” Bilbo whines, “I’ve half a mind to get sick all over you.”

Bilbo is not above exacting revenge should she discover the coot is withholding information purely for his entertainment. She would like to make a good first impression, thank you very much!

Gandalf huffs amusedly, his annoying smirk widens just a little bit more, and Bilbo can’t help but roll her eyes.

*

Bilbo greatly resists the urge to crumple to the ground and kiss the dirt when they finally reach the shore.

With their gear unloaded and once more packed on their mounts, they continue onward up the road. The new terrain is filled with pine trees and rocky outcroppings of all shapes and sizes. Bilbo can spot little cottages hidden between thicker copses—it’s a wonder how they sit on such terrain. Myrtle the pony handles their steady incline admirably with very little guidance from Bilbo, and avoids stepping on rocks jutting out from the path where they’re stubbornly buried in the ground.

When they had stopped for respite at Beorn’s home Bilbo could barely see the lonely peak in the distance, but as they traveled it grew and grew. Now the mountain towers above them. Midday finds them at the top of a cliff face looking down into the valley. The view reminds Bilbo of a painting she once saw, but seeing it with one’s own eyes is far more breathtaking.

The valley is covered in trees that neatly wrap around Dale’s walls, skirt along the river running, and tightly embrace the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo spots several farms, the plots of land also protected by the trees. Her eyes finally settle on the great gates of Erebor; it’s a surreal moment, she thinks, because never in her wildest dreams did she ever expect to be in a place like this, seeing with her own eyes the wonders that the other races have created. Rivendell was covered in colorful plants and elegant masonry but, in her mind, and from this distance, the single word that comes to mind looking down toward the gates is _striking._

*

As the pair cross the bridge and pass through the open gates Bilbo’s mind goes completely blank, and any expectations she had of what the inside of the mountain might look like fly right back outside.

There are more massive statues here but they are gilded and untouched by the elements like those they passed between on their way to the gate. The walls, floors, and pillars are a peculiar marbled green color. Everything except the floor is covered in geometric shapes and runes lined with gold, which is really very pretty. The height of the ceiling nearly has her tipping backwards and off her pony—and she very well may have, were it not for a steadying hand from Gandalf.

They’re not even in the city proper and already there are many people bustling around. The guards positioned throughout the entryway are covered in polished armor, nearly statues themselves.

Gandalf leads them off to the side out of the way of foot traffic and dismounts his horse, prompting Bilbo to do the same. The wizard gathers both sets of reins and hands them off to a dwarf, not a guard Bilbo guesses from the lack of armor on their person.

“What about our stuff?” Bilbo asks as she scrambles a bit to catch up to Gandalf. She’s never had a reason to be protective of her belongings, not even during their long trek. Now that they’re in a massive city Bilbo’s mind can’t help wandering to the possibility of sticky fingers. But the wizard quickly dashes away those fears.

“Worry not, my dear Bilbo! Our belongings will be quite safe here, trust me,” Gandalf says with a smile. “It’ll all be taken care of.”

“If you says so,” Bilbo grumbles.

She follows quietly behind Gandalf swiveling her head to and fro, looking at all she can at her eye level, and paying the barest attention to Gandalf as he weaves a path through the people milling about. Bilbo nearly gets lost in a group of five elves and nearly trampled by a horse pulling a cart. She sprints to catch back up with Gandalf nearly tripping up a man in the process. Without even realizing it, they’ve entered into an even more cavernous area with ten times the activity.

There are banners flowing down from where they’re hung on the ceilings and pillars. Light shines in through many gaping archways. A massive statue, a king Bilbo assumes from the golden crown sitting on the giant stone-dwarf’s head, stands tall ahead of them. Walkways criss and cross far above them, and deep below Bilbo gets woozy just staring at the people traversing them. There’s so much more to see and Bilbo blindly follows where her feet lead, looking this way and that, eyes darting from architecture to the myriad of people, inevitably leading her to collide with someone.

“Ooof!”

Bilbo rubs her nose still stinging from the impact, and stares at the two steel-toed, boot-clad feet now within her field of vision.

Bilbo’s eyes follow the trail of boots, dark trousers, and a deep blue tunic with silver stitching, leaving her breathless yet again. She can do little else but gape up at the most beautiful dwarf her eyes have ever seen— _the only dwarf you’ve ever really seen,_ her mind supplies unhelpfully.

Bilbo knows she’s in trouble when she can think nothing else but _‘I’m in love’_ as she stares into striking blue eyes. Said dwarf holds a hand out to Bilbo—much bigger than Bilbo’s own, with rings on just about every finger and made of all sorts of precious metals, decorated with glittering stones—arching an elegant thick brow. The dwarf’s hair is black as night and braided back, two singular braids, silver beads capping the ends, hanging at their temples. The beard is much the same: braided up and adorned with sparkling silvery beads. The hair looks soft and Bilbo so wishes to run her fingers through it to see if it’s just as soft as she thinks it is.

The dwarf politely clears their throat and Bilbo’s face heats up with embarrassment.

Bilbo doesn’t wish to be any more rude, so she accepts the offered help and is hoisted up as though she weighs nothing more than a feather. It’s exhilarating, and the butterflies make their return to her stomach now that she’s face to face with the dwarf.

“I’m so sorry!” Bilbo’s stammers out, completely flustered. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

The dwarf smiles at Bilbo, unperturbed by the incident.

“Think nothing of it,” the dwarf says, their voice a bit deeper than Bilbo’s, but the sound is incredible and weaves its silky tune around Bilbo and makes her shiver.  “It is I who should be seeking forgiveness—”

The dwarf pauses mid sentence, their brows knitting together as they scrutinize Bilbo.

“You are not a dwarf.”

“Ah, no I’m not,” Bilbo agrees nervously and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit from the Shire.”

“We’ve never had Melekûn in the mountain before,” the dwarf replies thoughtfully.

Bilbo’s heart rabbits in her chest, and she hopes that the dwarf before her can’t hear it. She’s had little interaction with much of anyone since Rivendell, Bilbo hadn't even bothered to speak with the big folk in Lake Town. “Hobbits never really travel further than Bree, you see. I’m the first to get this far in a good while. My mother made it to Rivendell before that,” Bilbo rambles.

The dwarf opens their mouth to speak again but is interrupted by the sudden appearance of Gandalf. Bilbo is thankful for the Wizard’s timely arrival.

“There you are Bilbo! I was beginning to think you had disappeared, my friend,” the Wizard says, standing next to the dwarf, not the least bothered by Bilbo’s talkative stranger.

“Tharkûn,” the dwarf speaks gruffly up at Gandalf, not amused in the least.

“Ah, Thorin. It’s good to see you again!” the wizard replies happily, not at all put off by the dwarf’s abrupt shift in attitude.

“Sorry, Gandalf,” Bilbo says, “I got caught up in the sights.”

Gandalf chortles and now even Bilbo starts to feels irritated. “Worry not my dear, all is well. But I see you’ve met Thorin.”

 _Thorin_ shifts their gaze from the troublesome wizard and back to Bilbo—who feels the embarrassment return to her tenfold—and speaks up. “We’ve hardly met, as I’ve only just picked your hobbit up off the ground. I am Thorin, Daughter of Várdís and Crown Prince of Erebor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made an executive decision to call Thorin prince instead of princess. So it's not a mistake, and you can blame rednightmare for my falling in love with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo becomes acquainted with her new temporary lodgings, has a cry, and has dinner with her hosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of writing this chapter and adjusting my notes, I discovered there's a rather large discrepancy in the timeline in the last chapter. I generally stick to Bilbo's canon birthday, so if she left the Shire in September they would mostly likely run into snow storms (and mess up some other things) en route to Erebor if it took them 6 months give or take. For all intents and purposes, Erebor is a bit closer to the Shire than it is in canon to account for that issue. 
> 
> Some other things to note: I chose to make Dis the second eldest child and Frerin the youngest. And if you have noticed just yet, everyone's a lot younger, which means no Fili and Kili. For the sake of happiness in the years to come, I'll be electing to give hobbits a longer lifespan.
> 
> Big thanks to Starmaster([x](https://becomingastarmaster.tumblr.com/)) for the beta, for both this chapter and the previous chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://tea-blitz.tumblr.com/)

Bilbo is still in the midst of a panic attack by the time she’s escorted to the rooms that she’ll be inhabiting for the duration of winter.

Because _of course_ she not only fawns over a foreign dwarf, but dwarven royalty no less. She might be half a Took, but she was brought up with more manners than staring slack-jawed at another person. By the green hills, she’s just happy she wasn’t drooling. She tries her best to calm herself as the anxiety of the day’s events have her wired and shaky.

Shortly after her awkward and unexpected meeting with the crown prince of Erebor, Bilbo and Gandalf meet with the kingdom’s senechal, as King Thráin could not meet them. It is a relief for Bilbo as she was not expecting to meet with such important people, much less the reigning monarch of the region. Not to mention she’s still a complete mess from the days traveling, and the idea of meeting anyone in such a state is a horrifying thought. She hollers at Gandalf for a good five minutes afterward for pulling the wool over her eyes like that. Unfortunately for her, both she and Gandalf are expected to dine with the king and his family this night which means seeing Thorin again. Bilbo isn’t sure if she’ll ever be ready for that.

It’s the promise of a soft bed and a bath that’s enough to distract her.

Her set of rooms are absolutely lavish, and the size alone rivals that of Bag End. It’s almost too much until she enters the bedroom and it’s twice the size of her bedroom back home.

The room is well lit considering there are no windows. The walls are a mosaic of blues ranging from the bright blue of the sky to the dark blue abyss of the depths of the long lake.

At her right there’s a large, blue-canopied four-poster bed that could definitely fit all her immediate family in it and still have room for more. She spots the things she left with the ponies, piled neatly on and next to a trunk at the foot of the bed.

Bilbo walks towards the bed, reaching out to touch one of the intricately designed grey posts at one of the bed’s corners—the material is cold to the touch, and doesn’t feel like wood at all. She lets out a hum of surprise, realizing the frame has been carved from stone. Her hand drifts down along the pole, knuckles brushing against the velvety cloth of the canopy as she goes, and onto the coverlets of the bed. A fur is draped across the bottom of the bed, and Bilbo drags her fingers through the soft tufts of it, sighing dreamily. She rests her other hand on the bed now too and digs it into the fur, and with both hands she tests the firmness of the mattress itself. Suddenly all thoughts of sleeping on cold, hard stone are gone. She’ll be sleeping on a cloud this night and for the rest of her stay in Erebor.

Pulling her attention from the bed, Bilbo looks around the bedchamber. A fire crackles merrily in the hearth opposite the bed, chasing away the chill of the room; a single armchair and side table placed before it. Just to the side of the hearth is a bookcase, filled with books. She’ll be looking through it later.

A vanity is pushed against the wall, opposite the door she came in through, with a nice big mirror on it—it takes up a surprisingly large portion of the wall space. A wardrobe stands tall behind her and Bilbo knows she hasn’t brought enough clothing to fill such a beast. The floors are, surprise, surprise, stone as well, not at all like the wood paneling covering the floors of Bag End—several rugs cover large swaths of the floor. If her feet were not so hardy, Bilbo suspects she’d have to deal with chilly feet come morning.

Before she gets too distracted, Bilbo abandons the bed and moves to dig through the pack she stuffed her clothes in. She is dead set on finding the bathroom to freshen up.

In her quest she discovers two closets, a whole other bedroom, a study, and the parlour of course. Opening the final door, Bilbo is met with a spacious room entirely done in blue-grey marble and shiny blue tiles. Her eyes roam around the room, taking in the extravagant decor and silently scrutinizing one of the many silky blue and silver drapes that are hanging from the ceiling, wondering at their purpose. A nearby table holds several fluffy looking towels, a few combs, and an assortment of glass bottles.

She lays her eyes on a bathtub the size of a lake built into the floor, already filled with steaming water. She’s never been so happy to see a bathtub in all her life. She hastily sheds her clothes, nearly tripping to get her trousers off.

“By the green lady, I never want to leave,” Bilbo groans in satisfaction as she finally lowers herself—by way of conveniently placed stairs at the corner of the bath—into the welcoming heat.

There’s a bar of soap sitting on the ledge of the tub, next to an odd indentation in the marble, and a couple glass bottles. Bilbo ignores the glass bottles and goes straight for the bar of soap—a quick sniff test reveals its scent to be lavender—and begins the arduous job of scrubbing weeks worth of travel off her body.

By the time she drags herself out of the pool her skin is pink from her bout of intense scrubbing. The water should be filthy, but Bilbo is surprised to see it as crystal clear as the moment she laid her eyes on it. She absolutely adores the genius of dwarves. She grabs one of the fluffy towels from the table and wraps herself in it—it’s more like a bathrobe than a towel the way it covers her entire body.

Back in her room, Bilbo struggles with a whole new problem.

What to wear to the dinner.

Normally, Bilbo would have just thrown on trousers and a waistcoat, clothes she is infinitely more comfortable wearing. But the meeting of Thorin, and the prospect of seeing her again, changes everything. So Bilbo carefully lays out her best clothes: white shirt, blue waistcoat and jacket, brown trousers. And then there is the emerald dress she had been given during her stay in Rivendell. She is more partial towards the trousers but, _oh,_ the dress is simply beautiful. As much as she wishes to wear it Bilbo isn’t so sure that she should, as self-conscious as she is.

The time for dinner draws near, so Bilbo decides to slip into her trousers and shirt. She stands before the mirror of the vanity, buttoning up the waistcoat. She awkwardly adjusts it a couple times before she lets out a frustrated growl. It doesn’t look right no matter what she tries, including tieing her long curly hair back.

“No, no, no!” Bilbo huffs in anger and pulls harshly at her waistcoat, nearly taking off a few buttons in the process of getting it off. She tosses it, the shirt, and the coat on the bed and leaves the trousers crumpled on the floor.

She knows she’s being silly and overthinking everything—she certainly _feels_ silly standing around in her underthings so close to dinner time. Bilbo picks the dress up off the bed and slips into it. The cloth is cool against her heated skin as it slides into place; she moves back to the mirror to inspect herself.

The hem of the dress sits just above the hair on her shins. She’s happy that the dress doesn’t hang low to the ground to drag. The low cut of the neck is perfect, not completely covering her, and certainly not low enough for her breasts to spill out, but just enough to show off both her shoulders and the line of her neck. The sleeves that hang off her shoulders are loose around her arms and end at her elbow, where they flare out. Bilbo’s breath leaves her in a woosh, and she knows she made the better choice. Bilbo appreciates the way it fits her perfectly and complements her curvy figure. She’ll be sure to thank the elves on her return trip, and most likely acquire a few more in different colors.

She fixes her hair, mussed in her irritation, and decides to keep it up now that she is in a dress, especially one so showy. With the little time she has left, Bilbo picks up a comb from the vanity and brushes the hair on her feet and shins.

Bilbo takes one last look in the mirror and deems herself ready, hoping it will be passable for royalty, for royalty (or nobility) she is not.

With nothing else to distract her, Bilbo explores her chambers in-depth… which lasts about five minutes, enough time to glance at the tomes sitting on the shelves in her bedroom, before the nervousness is back and she is pacing in the parlour.

Bilbo has never met anyone so important. Elrond aside, as she knew what she was getting into in that regard; her own mother had become good friends with the elf lord. _Dwarves_ though _,_ they are a whole new animal. Many negative scenarios are quickly cluttering her thoughts, from getting kicked out of Erebor for accidentally insulting the king or his family, to ending up in some cold dank cell, never to see the sun again because she expressed interest in Thorin. Her thoughts are getting more ridiculous by the minute, but a loud knocking snaps her out of her reverie. Bilbo feels sick, her heart thumping painfully in her chest; she wants to go back into the bathroom and throw up in the toilet, but another set of knocks compels her to answer the door.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo says, frowning. Her nervousness shifts to anger.

“Bilbo, for a moment there I thought you had fallen asleep,” the wizard replies. “Are you ready?”

_‘The nerve of this wizard,’_ Bilbo thinks.

“Am I ready? Not in the least you conniving wizard!” Bilbo complains. _“Am I ready?_ I’m still angry at you, you know. You could have told me you were arranging this. _No,_ I am not ready! How could I possibly be ready to meet royalty? I’m just a hobbit, we don’t have kings or queens. No nobility, period. How am I supposed to not embarrass myself in front of them? What if I accidentally insult them?” Bilbo fretfully rambles at Gandalf, on the verge of hyperventilation.

Bilbo doesn’t want to go to dinner now, this entire adventure was a mistake, her mind supplies. She wants to go home and not put up with any of this. What a fool she is, Bilbo thinks, and covers her face to hide tears prickling in her eyes.

She doesn’t see Gandalf’s eyes widen in surprise or see him kneel, but there are a pair of hands on her shoulders grounding her, and she can very well hear the Wizard speak reassurances to her.

“All will be well, my friend. You need not worry about insulting the king, or his family for that matter. They are good dwarves, honorable, with a streak of stubbornness in them that rivals the size of Middle Earth, but they are never cruel. You will be well liked, trust me,” Gandalf kindly promises.

Bilbo sniffles and moves her hands from her face, “Are you sure?”

“I would not have brought you here if I was not sure of your safety, Bilbo,” he says, smiling at her.

Bilbo hates crying. She does not like the way it makes her throat choke up and ache, she does not like the way it makes her chest heave and her body shake, and she does not like the way it makes her face as red as a tomato and feel as though it is covered in fire.

Gandalf turns his head towards the page in the corridor waiting for them and tells them, “Let King Thráin know that his guests will be late.”

The page nods and walks off, leaving her and Gandalf alone.

“I am truly sorry Bilbo, I did not mean to cause you such distress,” Gandalf says as he rights himself. “We have some extra time now for you to calm down.

“Thank you, Gandalf,” Bilbo replies and walks back into the room.

*

A half hour later Bilbo’s face is still a little red from crying, but she feels refreshed and ready to face the music. They’re both quiet as Gandalf escorts her to the dining room they’ll be meeting the Durins in. Her stomach is still grumbling nervously, but she blames that on the fact that she’s hungry, and has been surviving on three meals a day with a snack here or there in between since leaving the Shire. She’s dying to get her hands on some of her comfort foods, and an ale to boot.

They arrive at a set of double doors, two guards standing on either side of them. The guards move without so much as a word from Gandalf, one of the two leaving their post to open the door.

“Your Majesty, the Wizard and his companion have arrived!” the guard announces to the room beyond the threshold.

“Excellent!” a voice booms joyfully.

Bilbo takes a deep, calming breath and follows Gandalf inside.

“I apologize for our lateness, King Thráin,” Gandalf greets the dwarf, bending forward slightly in a bow. “May I present to you Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire.”

The Wizard steps aside and presents her to the rest of the room. Several pairs of eyes peer at her over the table, heavy with food. Bilbo notes that none of the expressions are in any way negative—it’s a giant relief for her.

The king sits on the other side of the table from Bilbo. His hair is black—greying at the temples, a golden circlet hugs his head—and has a beard long enough to hide under the table. A maroon fur-lined robe is draped over his shoulders.

Nearly forgetting her manners, Bilbo bends forward in a bow.

“Please, come sit and be welcome at our table!” Thráin says invitingly. Bilbo can hardly refuse such a gracious offer.

The table placed in the middle of the room is both large and round; two seats have been left available for her and Gandalf.

Gandalf takes his place next to a dwarf whose hair has gone completely grey and is wearing rather opulent clothing and jewelry. That leaves Bilbo to sit next to a dwarf with dark hair, wearing a dark red dress with black lace.

“Now that we’re settled, let me introduce you to my family,” Thráin says.

Thráin gestures to his wife, Várdís, who is wearing a gold dress, sitting to his left. The queen’s hair is golden—braided intricately and adorned with gold and rubies. Next to her is their youngest son, Frerin, wearing a dark blue tunic and hair as golden as his mother’s. Thráin’s father, Thrór, sits next to the boy. On Bilbo’s left is their second daughter, Dís, and finally—

“And I’ve heard tell that you’ve already met my oldest, and my heir, Thorin,” Thráin comments lightly.

“Oh, yes,” Bilbo replies, smiling politely. And before she can stop herself, she’s saying, “I had the pleasure of running into her earlier today.”

Thráin chuckles, not the least bit perturbed by Bilbo’s comment. “I hope you weren’t hurt, we dwarves are practically made of stone. Some a little sturdier than others.”

“Adad, _please,”_ Thorin sighs exasperatedly. Thráin’s chuckles turn into a deep and hearty laugh resounding off the walls of the dining room.

“Now that the formalities are done with, let us eat our fill and be merry!”

Bilbo wastes no time filling her plate with a little of everything within reaching distance, filling it to the rim. There is venison, chicken, fish; Bilbo is delighted to see there are even fruits and a couple bowls of vegetables. There are a few dishes and meats Bilbo doesn’t recognize, but she is a hobbit, and there is always some worth in trying something new.

The others around the table begin to chat between each other, leaving Bilbo to her plate which is just as well. As bilbo eats, she steals several glances at Thorin who is listening to Thráin talk. Bilbo can’t quite keep her eyes off Thorin whose hair is braided back, left to cascade down her back, and wearing a black, form-fitting dress, while modestly adorned in silver and sapphires.

The servants come out of a side door bringing with them several flagons and cups, pouring drink for all around the table. So distracted as she is, Bilbo doesn’t realize one of the servants is at her side, asking her if she’d like wine or ale. She stutters an apology and requests an ale—the one she’s been hankering for all day. The brew is nearly as good as the stuff that comes from the Green Dragon back home. When Bilbo turns her eye back to Thorin, she finds the prince is looking right at her, her expression inquisitive. Bilbo is unable to hold Thorin’s gaze and turns her attention back to her cup of ale, nearly choking on a sip of it.

Bilbo manages to politely eat her way through three and a half helpings of dinner before it’s time for dessert. There is a lull in the conversation while the servants methodically clear off the table, and Thráin finally turns his curiosity on Bilbo.

“Dessert will be out soon, and I’ve yet to have a chance to hear of you, Miss Baggins,” Thráin says, smiling at Bilbo.

The other dwarves sitting around the table quit their conversations and turn their attention to Bilbo, making her fidget. Up to this point Bilbo has been minding her plate of food while listening to the conversations being had around the table. It was bound to happen, she thinks. _‘Just don’t embarrass yourself in front of Thorin, or make hobbits look bad,’_ her inner voice remarks.

So she tells Thráin and his family of hobbits. Bilbo describes the Shire in all its green and sprawling beauty. Hobbits live in houses called smials she says, they’re built into the hills— and they are not at all smelly or filthy dirt covered hovels. She finds amusement in the looks of disbelief when she tells them that they eat seven meals a day, _minimum._ No, the Shire does not have a military, but during the harvest festival the Tooks and Brandybucks put on a tournament for fisticuffs—yes, all are allowed to enter, even the ladies if they so desire. No other hobbits really have a penchant for adventuring, but they love a good story. Yes, hobbits love parties as much as dwarves, but they are often more of an excuse to whip up new recipes or improve upon older recipes outside of birthdays, weddings, and Yule.

The dwarves listen with rapt attention, Frerin even suggests they all go for a visit to the Shire one day.

Bilbo pauses and gulps down the rest of her ale and Thráin takes that moment to change the subject, which she is thankful for. She was starting to get tired of talking.

“Perhaps one day we shall visit the Shire, I would very much like to see for myself what your lands have to offer,” the king says. “But for now, while you are here in Erebor, we shall first extend the courtesy to you. You will be made comfortable and all your needs will be seen to, you will want for nothing. Thorin will be the one to show you the wonders of a dwarven kingdom!”

“And what of my duties, Adad?” Thorin interjects.

Bilbo gapes at the king, not sure if she heard correctly or not, and spares a look in Thorin’s direction who is not looking too thrilled. “I thank you for your gracious hospitality, Your Majesty, but I couldn’t in good conscience—”

“It’s only fair that a guest from so far away is well taken care of,” Thráin interrupts Bilbo. “As for your duties, Thorin, they can be delegated to others. I dare say it’s time for Frerin to be taking up more responsibility himself. I would trust no one else with this task, Thorin.”

For just a moment Bilbo thinks Thorin is going to ignore Thráin’s request, but to Bilbo’s surprise Thorin’s lips curl into a smile, looking at Bilbo as she says, “Then I will consider it a great honor to show Miss Baggins the splendors of our kingdom.”

It’s that very smile that keeps Bilbo awake in her bed after they’ve all retired for the evening.


End file.
